The courtroom buzzes with anticipation as the accused maids, stripped bare, await their punishment. The air is thick with the scent of their fear and the unspoken lust of the onlookers. The firstmaid, Tybalt, her alabaster skin glistening with sweat, is bent over the wooden block. The first smack of the paddle sends a shockwave through her, a cry escaping her lips. The secondmaid, Sara Witch, her full, round bottom quivering, receives her blows with gritted teeth, her eyes locked on the stone floor. The room is a symphony of smacks, cries, and the heavy breathing of the Inquisitors, each impact leaving a red imprint on the maids' tender flesh.